


The Moment had Passed

by Quantum_Overload



Series: Forgotten Files [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Overload/pseuds/Quantum_Overload
Summary: Death is hard, comfort is harder.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character
Series: Forgotten Files [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089077





	The Moment had Passed

The heart monitor flatlined. Demia's reassuring grip on my forearm softened before the hand slipped off and fell limp beside the bed. I called the nurse. Rising from my stool I carefully made my way around the bed. I knew that once the nurses arrived they would have to ask me to leave, but I still paused at the door. I turned around to take one last look at my coworker, my friend.  
Her skin was smooth and unblemished save for the crow's feet that left her face in an eternal smile. Even the permanent bags under her eyes had faded completely in her time at the hospital. Her brown hair, that usually flowed like water around her body, was held up in a loose messy bun that made her look a lot older than she was. Her slender lips were stretched into a serene smile and her eyes were closed, but I was glad for that. I was glad because I didn't think I could handle seeing her antique ebony eyes glassy and hollow. I didn't think I could handle seeing the determined fire of the girl that had started out as a consultant and rival, who quickly became something more akin to a partner and confidant, put out at last.  


I opened the door and stepped out of the room, ducking behind it as the medical staff arrived. I watched them scramble inside and bark out instructions, resting my hand on the door handle until someone yanked it shut.  


“She's gone, isn't she,” a quiet voice called from beside me, what should have been a question coming out as a resigned admission. I jumped in alarm, spinning around to face the source of the sudden intrusion to my melancholy. She was sitting on the bench, one empty seat between me and her. Her vibrant magenta hair was draped over her hunched shoulders, framing her face and casting a dark shadow over it.  


I had only met her properly once. She'd helped us solve a case; unofficially of course since she was a pre-teen and a criminal apparently, but the girls kept that under lock and key. 'plausible deniability' they said. I left it alone, the less I knew the better. But I knew Demia had agreed to teach her Dream-walking in exchange for her help, and I knew that they'd grown close through that training. After that first time, I saw her pretty often, though we would never talk. Usually, she was with Demia, just hanging out and talking, but on rare occasions I would find her alone, working on something. The strange thing was that I only ever saw her at the same place, the cafe where we first met. The cafe me and Demia frequented since it was close to work and on my way back home, and it was good. I remembered her trying to make a joke back when I first sat at the booth, 'A constable, consultant and criminal walk into a cafe'. It wasn't very funny, and the real punchline was in the parody, but it broke the ice and dragged us into a conversation. Back then she was jovial, childish and wily, but she was also efficient, determined and focused. No matter how outlandish her commentary seemed or how coy she was with her findings she was good at her job and confident in her conclusions.  


The girl that had walked through Demia's hospital door hours before, wasn't like that at all. She was quiet and angry. Not that Demi was dying, or at herself for not being there to help her and she wasn't angry at me or the doctors for not being able to do anything; like one would expect. No, she seemed to be angry at Demi. Angry that Demia wasn't fighting to stay alive, angry that Demia seemed resigned to her death, making Siana even more despondent. Before Demi had asked her to leave so that we could talk alone she kept muttering lines from one of Dylan Thomas' poems, 'Do not go gentle'. Demia had ignored that when she spoke to Siana, talking instead about how she had taught Siana everything she knew about Dream walking, how proud she was of the younger girl and how Siana would do fine. I don't think that's what she wanted to hear, or what she needed to hear.  


Seeing her here, sitting dutifully outside the door, even in the face of her anger and despair. It reminded me of Demia's last request. I wanted to comfort her, to talk to her again, to understand why she was angry, or even just respond to her statement. But by the time I had gathered up my courage to give the young girl some support. By the time I reached out my hand. She had turned her back to me, striding down the hall, alone; the moment had passed.


End file.
